


Mai Bhalsych of Korse, Friend of the Crown

by Veritas_Liberte



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alistair (Dragon Age) is a Good Friend, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Dorian Pavus Being Dorian Pavus, Dorian Pavus being Fabulous, Drabble Collection, Drunk Alistair (Dragon Age), Gen, Grumpy Fenris (Dragon Age), Josephine Can Not, Multi, Nobles are Nobles, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Protective Dorian Pavus, Sera Being Sera (Dragon Age), because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-01 17:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritas_Liberte/pseuds/Veritas_Liberte
Summary: So i may have decided to turn this into a place for random shorts and flicets. Because reasons. these do not take place in a single universe though I might add scenes from my main story "Dance of the Wolves" that don't have a place in the main narrative.





	1. Mai Bhalsych of Korse, Friend of the Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Sera meets a stranger who doesn't like nobles either. Isn't it great! There might be one small fact he forgot to mention though.

“Your Ladyship may I present His majesty King Alistair of Ferelden, veteran of the fifth blight, Beloved of the Hero of Fereldan.”

The King bowed very properly.

“Your majesty may I present our Lady Inquisitor, Champion and Herald of the blessed Andraste.”

The Inquisitor responded on cue with the curtsy Josephine had been drilling into her for weeks.

“We are honoured to see you again my Lord.” Lavellan began but stopped in momentary confusion as a murmured disturbance began at the back of the great hall. Suddenly a disheveled bundle of red velvet and plaidweive stormed through the assembled crowd.

Bristling like a ruffled hen Sera stomped forward, pointed her finger right at the king of Fereldan and screamed.

“YOU  _ TIT!!” _

~~~~~~~~

_ 14 hours earlier… _

_ Sera was  _ bored _ . Boooooooorrrred _

The tavern was nearly empty. The friggin’ Chargers were gone, somewhere. Bull was with them this time. Off havin’ right fun. Probably blowing shite up. Varric was doing business rubbish since there weren’t enough people around for a decent card game. Inky had dragged Dorian off with the team to look up something or other magicky. Not that she wanted to go fuck with something magicky, but she couldn’t even take the piss about his flappy robes. 

Everybody left was serious as pish and it wasn’t even fun pranking them if no one was around to have a laugh. To top it all off Maryden had sung that weird ass song about her twice today. Friggin’ creepy that was. 

Sera was just about to go get her bow and see if she could turn the lute into a hedgehog without the bard noticing when a strange man entered the tavern.

Ok strictly speaking he wasn’t strange, just your typical ferelden type, but he had a hood and seemed to be hiding a bit, like he didn’t want to be seen. Pretty obvious though. He’d make a shite spy. 

Regardless, he went to the bar and ordered a pint. After a minute he sat in a more sheltered corner of the room and started looking around very carefully. Well, even that was boring. If he was going to be all cloaky spy type he should at least do something interesting. Clearly this was a case for immediate intervention.

As it happened the strange man had taken a table just under the edge of the balcony. One moment he was quietly sipping his ale, the next he had spit it all over the table when a blonde elf literally dropped from the sky into the chair across from him.

“ _ Andraste’s pyre! _ ” Then when noticing that barely a few heads were raised and no one any took further notice he asked. “Do you always swoop down on people like that?”

“Aww, what’s th’ matter, you don’t like swooping?”

“Yes, swooping is bad.”

“Sometimes. Dunno. You’re not from around here. What’cha doin’?”

“Um, well I wanted to look around I guess. I’m with this group from Ferelden. They’re coming tomorrow but I wanted to see for myself without all the ceremony and stuff.”

“You travelin’ with some noble tossers?”

The blonde man smiled. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Arrgh! Friggin’ nobles right? We’ve still got some knobs from Orlais round.”

“Really,” the man leaned forward interested, “Are they all wearing those weird masks, even here? Oh I’m Al by the way.”

“Sera. Put ’er there.” Said The elf, waiving for a drink with one grubby hand while she reached out the other to shake. Which Al promptly did. “And yeah, they look like a right bunch of creepy dolls. You know they wear friggin’ make-up too under all that get up?”

“Really, Why? Wouldn’t it just get all gross and sticky?”

“Search me. Half the shite these noble tits do doesn’t make any sense.”

“I figure they’d just get drunk and argue over who’s the most self-important of them all. Maybe it’s simpler in Ferelden.”

Sera cackled at that. “You know, you’re alright Al.”

~~~~~~~~~

A couple hours and more than a couple beer later. The odd pair were still swapping increasingly inebriated stories.

“...And after all that Oghren didn’t even notice. I didn’t know you could get a layer of grime so thick it could repel itching powder.”

“ _ Ewwwwww! _ ” Sera shrieked.

“I know right? And it’s harder to push a dwarf in the lake than you think. They’re short, and hefty.”

“Oh, oh,” said Sera, “I’ve got an idea, like a real proper one. There’s this Orlesian bitch, slapped her chambermaid. Lets, let’s go put itching powder in her fancy face paints.”

“That’s  _ awesome _ . We, we should do that. But...but where are we going to get itching powder.”

“Psssshhhhh… I got this.” Sera raced up to her room with Al following, not really sure what he was supposed to do. Soon random articles were flying around the room as Sera dug through drawers.

“A Ha!” She lifted a small innocuous looking envelope and brandished it victoriously. Then she cackled. “C’mon.”

Sera dragged him up the steps, out onto the wall. The guards didn’t even blink at Sera anymore. They didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of her pranks so they never interfered. By the time they made it around to the servant's entrance they were whispering and giggling.

“SHHHHHHHH! You’re shite at sneaking, hold this” Sera whispered.

Al held the envelope as delicately as if it was made of bees while Sera rustled around her outfit for lockpicks. They held their breath tiptoeing down the hall, at the right room Sera stopped them. 

“Stay here and if anyone comes have a coughing fit.” Sera whispered.

Al saluted in agreement and waited. In a disturbingly short span of time Sera was back, dragging him back out, down the stairs through the great hall, down more stairs, through… somewhere, to the kitchen.

“Brilliant” he exclaimed while they both rummaged

“Breakfast of Champions right? Dinner.”

“Too right” he agreed raising a cold leg in salute before tearing into it.

Once the two had stuffed their faces it wasn’t long before they were dozing at the table.

“Can’t sleep… got to get back..” Al mumbled. Sera just grunted and laid her head on her hands.

~~~~~ 

The next thing either of them knew a rooster was crowing and the Keep was stirring.

“Wha…?” said Al. Half his face was red and splotchy and a glob of mustard had streaked his nose.

“Shite, shite,  _ shite!  _ Don’t wanna fuck with cook. She’s right grumpy in the mornin’.

“Shit, shit,  _ shit!  _ Tegan is going to kill me.”

Without more ado Sera shoved their leftovers in a basket, shoved the basket under the table, grabbed the man by his collar and ran for it cackling like a maniac.

“Which way is the gate?”

“There.” She pointed, breathing hard. “Wait! Mustard.” She wiped her sleeve over the end of his nose.

“Thanks,” he said running for the gates, “bye!”

Sera gave a yawn and a wave, then she headed back to her room for a few hours proper sleep.

~~~~~~

_ Now. _

A few dozen hands reached for weapons but they were left strangely befuddled while watching the tiny, apparently unarmed elf punch the king of Ferelden in the shoulder, while he attempted to back around a very confused Arl Tegan.

“Pissin’ on shitey noble tits when your the knobiest knob of them all...”

“Ma’dam contain yourself.”

“I wasn’t lying, I slept in a barn growing up.”

“Really Alistair, is this the time for that?”

The Inquisitor looked at the absolute comic farce playing out in her hall and seriously contemplated just collapsing in laughter. One look at Josie’s horrified face decided her though.

She struck her staff on the ground summoning a thunderclap that froze everyone in the hall, including the primary players.

“As fascinating as the story behind this must be Sera, you will apologise to his majesty the king and our honoured guest the Arl of Redcliffe.”

“But he..”

“ _ Sera.” _

Sera scowled like a thunderstorm. She turned an odd little curtsy and said, “sorry Arl” in a frightening sing-song voice, then glared one final time at Alistair and stormed off.

“Well, your majesty,” said the Inquisitor after an exceptionally awkward moment, “I think you may fit in here better than I thought.”


	2. When Worlds (Almost) Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris recognises the Iron Bull from his time on Seheron. Tensions ensue until Dorian appears and puts a stop to it by being fabulous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I write this? It was stuck in my head.  
Should I be working on my main title? Of course I should.
> 
> Why do I always make Fenris so reactionary and stabby?
> 
> I don't know, I'm a horrible person... and he's hot when he growls.

"And this is The Iron Bull. Captain of the Bull's Chargers."

Hawke was reaching out to shake hands with the largest and most strangely animated Qunari she had ever seen when her elbow was yanked backwards and a growl erupted over her shoulder.

Fenris. 

" _ Hissrad. _ " The word came out like a curse. 

The man's scarred face became impassive as he sized up the elf. His eye widened ever so slightly when Fenris' Lyrium flickered. 

" _ Asala-Kata _ .*"

"Is that what you called me?"

"It seemed appropriate."

"You two have met?" Hawke said incredulously.

"If we had met one of us would not be standing here."

Fenris scowled and turned without taking his eyes from the other warrior, "Inquisitor this man is not what he seems."

Instead of looking alarmed, the Inquisitor actually looked embarrassed. "Yeah, look, about that."

"_Amatus_," a cultured voice rang out in Tevene as possibly the only Inquisition member more shocking than the Iron Bull entered the room. "I need your opinion on something."

"Not the best timing _Kadan_."

Fenris, who had drawn his blade at first hearing the voice lowered the point. He was looking back and forth at the two men in total confusion.

"Nonsense," Dorian continued with a flourish, "My timing is always impeccable. Now about the… oh hello." he said looking up from his papers to see an armed elf with sword drawn, an embarrassed Inquisitor with what looked like a headache coming on, and a surprisingly muscular woman with a red stripe across her nose looking amused at the whole thing. 

"Dorian," The inquisitor said with resignation in his voice, "Meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall and her companion Fenris."

"Avanna. It's an honour to meet you both," he said with a slight bow. 

The surprise at being included in the greeting caused the tip of the sword to drop further and, at a sharp elbow jab from Hawke, Fenris sheathed his sword. 

"Ah but I neglected to introduce myself. Dorian of house Pavus, most recently of Minrathos. And am I correct in assuming," he continued, barely pausing for breath, "that you are the Lyrium warrior who slew Magister Dannarius?"

The Inquisitor facepalmed, Hawke winced, and Fenris growled. The Iron Bull merely raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Fenris spat through gritted teeth. A reaction Dorian completely ignored.

"Excellent. I wish I'd known closer to the time I'd have sent a fruit basket or something."

"You knew Danarius?" Asked Hawke with a calculating look.

"By reputation only, fortunately for me." Dorian replied. "The man was vile from what I understand. Ruthless even for a Magister, and they're not exactly known for their delicate sensibilities. I have no doubt he would have been among the first to join the Venatori."

"And you weren't?" Fenris snapped.

"I was offered. I declined the honour," he said a touch sharply. "Much to the horror of some of my countrymen. But that's why we kill them. In any event. Should you join us for cards this evening, I'll owe you a drink. It's the least I could do." 

Dorian turned to the Inquisitor. "Also, I hope you don't mind if I steal Bull, do you? I'm sure Josephine would be happy to help you entertain." He chattered as he somehow manged to effortlessly bustle the enormous Qunari out of the room. 

As the door closed behind them Fenris shook his head as though dazed. 

"Are those two actually together?" He asked after a moment.

"They actually are," said the Inquisitor giving a wry smile. "I don't know who was more surprised."

"He fought on Seheron," Fenris said. "He is Ben Hassrath."

"Was, actually," the Inquisitor interjected. "Things change."

Fenris looked back to where the mismatched couple disappeared. "They do."

  
  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, you riding in to rescue me Kadan?" Bull asked as he pressed the mage against a wall.

"I have no idea what you're talking about Amatus."

"Sure you don't," he said, kissing his way down his neck. "So what was that terribly important thing you needed my opinion on?"

Dorian bit his knuckles to stifle a moan. "That's not…. I don't …. Uggh, I hate your pants!"

"You brought me out here because you hate my pants?"

"They are a blight upon my eyes and I insist that you remove them immediately."

Bull chuckled long and low in a way that sent shivers down Dorian's spine.

"I can do that Kadan."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Asala-Kata.* Asala: soul. Kata: Death specifically a threat or order to kill.  
With the fog warriors the light from Fenris' brands would be dispersed throughout the fog blinding everyone. This is how he got the title which is basically the Spirit/Angel of Death.


	3. Not what I signed up for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Fenris agreed to help house refugees this is NOT what he had in mind

Fenris had just been finishing his coffee when the phone rang. He sighed at the interruption to his day off but still felt a tiny swell of pride. He no longer jumped in fear at the sound of a bell. He had friends who called him of their own volition. He was proud of the life he had built.

Today, however, it was a business call.

"Good morning Fenris." 

"Josephine. What can I do for you?" Josephine was a wonderful woman. She worked in immigration and had moved mountains to get his case seen with priority when he sought asylum in the free marches. But her powers of diplomacy were unmatched and Fenris learned long ago that it saved time to give her what she wanted upfront.

"I hope that you are well. I've seen nothing but positive reports. How is your job going?"

Fenris smirked, "Very well. Isabella is a flexible boss." Working to fill in the gaps in his education was not easy but Isabella's bar paid well enough, and left him with time to take a few courses at the local college. "But I doubt that is the only reason you called."

"I apologize, I should follow up more often. But now that you mention it there was something I hoped you could help with. I'm having difficulty with a placement. The man is a refugee from Tevinter. He was forced to flee quite suddenly and had to barter most of his resources for passage."

Fenris took a deep breath. There was a reason he volunteered to help refugees. As much as he valued his privacy, he remembered the help he had received and wanted to pay it forward. But anxiety still ate at him. "Is there anything else."

"I'm afraid there is one point. I've been unable to place him in part because he is a mage. I realize that this is not ideal for you either but he has been vetted by Seeker Pentergast."

Fenris fought the urge to throw the phone down. A mage. A  _ Tevinter _ mage. He couldn't... Fenris took a deep breath. He knew if Josephine was calling him for this placement she was probably out of options. He owed the woman a great deal.

He tried to remember Hawke, the friend who taught him that not all mages are bad. He remembered arguing with the abomination. There were many mages "indentured" in Tevinter. Magister's did not hesitate to collar their own. Especially elves who so many humans still felt themselves superior to.

He could do this. He was strong enough to do this.

"I have some conditions." He finally ground out. "I need regular contact with the Seeker's office, and he must agree not to do magic in my house."

"Of course. I had anticipated the probability of such a request and he has already agreed. The Seeker's office can contact you first thing in the morning."

Fenris looked out. It was getting late for the office. Quite late. Josephine must have been working on this for hours. He tried not to grind his teeth. One long deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Asit Tal-eb

"Alright."

Even Josephine couldn't keep the relief out of her voice completely. "Thank you so much for your help. I understand this circumstance is less than ideal. I will follow up with you tomorrow and we can look for better long term solutions. I will finish up and send him over in a car. Say fourty-five minutes?"

"That should be sufficient."

Fenris was glad for the luxurious loft, formerly belonging to his master, that Josephine had managed to get him the deed to as a settlement when his story came to light. In truth the spare rooms were almost never used and Fenris lived rather sparsely. It didn't take very long to change the linens and he was left at loose ends. He opened a bottle of wine to steady his nerves. 

When he was certain he would wear a hole through his carpet, he finally heard the bell. Buzzing them in he took one last moment. He would not be intimidated. This was his house. This person was his guest. Seeker Pentergast would not have let a bloodmage out on the streets much less loose in his home.

Setting down his wine he walked purposefully to the door. He opened it and froze.

In front of him was a olive-skinned man with a single dufflebag and a perfectly ridiculous moustache. Sleepless circles could not hide flawless skin or refined posture. The rumpled state of his clothes did not hide their quality or expense. In front of him, with horrified realization dawning in his eyes, was unmistakably the face of an Altus.

In some distant part of his shortcircuting brain he could hear the voice of a friend echoing in his ears.

"Well. Shit."

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a second chapter about the fallout but right now I'm good with this.


End file.
